I Sing the Body Electric
by paperbkryter
Summary: Feeling suffocated by Sam's relentless search for a way out of his contract, Dean escapes for a night out on the town, and has a wild encounter that will change his views on life, death and his brother's destiny.


Dean picked the place based on two very simple criteria – one, they served alcohol and two, it was the last place on earth Sam would ever look for him.

The club was called "Eclectic" or possibly "Electric" - he didn't give a shit either way - and was the kind of place the latest round of young urban professionals came to unwind after a long day of whatever the fuck they did for a living. A lively techno dance beat leaked out onto the sidewalk, the sign was neon. For someone used to roadhouses and biker bars it seemed much too sleek, too modern and sterile. It had no character, unless that character was some fluffy 90210 twenty-something or Sarah Jessica Parker.

He sized up the bouncer as he went in, and the bouncer returned the favor. Dean thought he might be a little light in the loafers. He probably would have pissed his pants had he seen the Magnum tucked under the leather coat he'd looked at so disdainfully. A musclebound poser, he didn't recognize the real thing when he saw it. Dean was the real thing. He didn't kick ass for a few extra bucks, he did it to survive.

A hundred dollar bill and a glare was all it took to get in – just what he thought. Two girls passed by and checked him out, one said something about Indiana Jones. Dean preened a little until he realized it wasn't a compliment. He was morbidly under dressed and outdated among the slick GQ cover wannabes and the glam-girls in their short, tight little club fashions. Their colors were steely blues, velvety blacks and passionate reds with a spattering of cool purple and gray. Dean's colors were the color of the grave – dirt brown, moldy black and pale, lifeless cream.

The place was packed on a Saturday night but he managed to squeeze in at the bar between two metrosexual men discussing their stock portfolios while they tried to catch the eye of a gaggle of females at a nearly table. Insulted by his rudeness they took their business elsewhere. Dean ordered whiskey, shoved a credit card at the bartender and told him to run a tab. The platinum card spoke the language even if Dean's appearance didn't. His platinum card was a recent acquisition. Dean figured it wouldn't hurt to run it up, he wouldn't need it in another week.

A week. Fuck.

He took a drink. This place, this loud, bright, alien place was a temporary safe haven. Here he could escape from his own world for a while, forget about deals with demons, impending death, Hell, and baby brothers who wouldn't leave well enough alone. They were in Massachusetts because Sam heard from someone, who heard from someone else, who heard from someone's cousin's uncle half removed that there was a witch in Salem who had once beaten the rap on a demon contract. Dean told him this "someone" was blowing smoke up his ass, but Sam refused to listen.

When they arrived they discovered this so-called witch had not gotten out of the contract, rather her contract had been lost in a poker game by the demon who held it. The demon with the winning hand got sent back to Hell not long after, which did not void the contract at all, but rather made it come due immediately. Instead of ten years the witch got two, end of story.

The only good thing that came out of their trip to Salem was that they ran into a demon themselves, exorcised it, and got a tip that Lilith was methodically criss-crossing the country searching for Sam. Ruby's hex bags seemed to be working, keeping their blips off her radar. A brief but heated argument occurred when Sam suggested they ditch the bags and bring Lilith to them. When reminded of the fact their only means of destroying Lilith, the Colt, was long gone, Sam's answer was that they should summon Ruby and borrow her knife.

Dean had put his foot down – hard.

"I swear to God, Sam if you call that she-bitch here I'll save you the trouble and cut my own throat."

It was a bluff of course, but it got his point across. Sam shut up about Ruby. Dean then insisted they stop over in Boston to see Fenway park and take in a Red Sox game. Dean had a week left, and therefore much leverage. Sam humored him. They'd pigged out on chili dogs and beer and the Red Sox won. They _both_ had a really good time, which had been Dean's intention.

That had been yesterday. In a few more hours they would be on their way again – to where Dean didn't know. Sam got back to their hotel after the trip to the ballpark and buried himself in research again, conferencing by telephone with Bobby, making notes, and guzzling Red Bull like it was going out of style. His company was not only boring it was downright mind-numbing. The prospect of being stuck in a car with him for hours and hours was less than appealing. Dean made an excuse for leaving the room – an ice run or something – and took off.

Sam had called him no less than five times.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at it.

Make that six.

He felt a little pang of guilt. Of course Sammy was worried, of course he wanted to spend as much time with his brother as possible before...

Whatever.

Fact was that Dean was tired. He was tired of keeping a game face, tired of keeping Sam distracted (and from doing something stupid), and just plain tired of having what remained of his life being centered around his _death._ Sam needed to just back off and leave him alone for a little while, let him _live_ a little.

Dean had the bartender refill his glass a few times before he felt his confidence returning. Turning around he looked out across the club, studying the foreign landscape stretched out before him. Dean saw a woman on the far edge of the dance floor glance his way. He shot her a smile. Even so far out of his element he knew he could certainly attract _someone_ to take home with him. He'd rent a nice suite far from the place where Sam brooded, and have himself a good time.

He mentally jotted the brunette down as a prospect and continued his perusal. The techno dance music stopped making Dean's stomach churn after a few shots. It had gotten a number of people out on the dance floor. Dean let his eye rove through the crowd, picking out the single girls, carefully judging their reactions to the men who tried to partner up with them. One svelte Asian beauty seemed decidedly annoyed at her erstwhile suitor who danced too close and out of sync with her pseudo-sexual gyrations. She wore a short, tight black dress. No panties. Jesus.

Looking away from the Asian girl he caught sight of a blond head bobbing among the crowd. She didn't seem to mind the two men sandwiching her between them, but seemed rather oblivious. Her arms were raised over her head as she danced, her rhythm was perfect, her body sleek and athletic. Unlike the other girls around her she was not wearing a skirt, but rather a pair of skin tight jeans and a clingy white tank top beneath a short leather coat. As one of her partners fell away from her to entertain someone else, Dean made note of how the back of her coat rose and fell as she moved to the music. Something metallic winked back at him from her waist – a knife tucked into her belt at the small of her back.

Dean frowned, and looked again, this time focusing on the pretty, petite features of her face. It wasn't easy. Her long-blond hair fell down into her eyes and swirled around her face as her dancing continued. However, it only took one good eyeful before he confirmed his suspicion.

"Ruby."

As if on cue she threw back her head and laughed, sidling up close to her remaining dance partner, locking hips and lips with him and moving so suggestively Dean was surprised they weren't called out by the bouncer for lewd behavior.

He also wondered what Ruby's dance partner would do if he knew the body he was practically dry humping had been dead for at least a year, maybe longer. He hoped Ruby had let the girl's poor spirit go and wasn't holding her hostage inside her own head.

The music changed. Dean lost sight of Ruby, and apparently so had her partner. He wandered off the dance floor looking somewhat dazed.

"You won't find Lilith here."

Dean started, turned to find the demon standing right there at his elbow, her eyes fixed on him in a cool, emotionless stare.

"I wasn't looking," he muttered, as if she hadn't just startled the piss out of him.

"Shouldn't you be?" Ruby said lightly. She hadn't visibly broken a sweat, but he caught a faintly musky scent rising off of her. Perfume? Somehow he doubted it. "Clock's ticking."

"What are you doing here?"

She gave him a look. The kind of look that says, _"are you really that stupid?" _

"Dancing. Drinking. Having a good time." She leaned in toward him and this time not only did he smell the same earthy scent he'd caught before, but on her breath an odd mix of peppermint and sulfur. "This," a hand flicked casually toward the club in general. "They don't have this in Hell."

"I figured."

"I'm making up for centuries of lost time." Her smile was small, wry, but there was a definite predatory look in her eyes. "And I had some time to kill because _someone _won't let me help them."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"You're not doing him any favors you know."

"At least I don't lie to him."

"Don't you?" Ruby signaled the bartender. He brought her a drink and she clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Put it on my friend's tab."

The bartender looked to Dean for confirmation. Dean gave him a quick nod of approval, if only to get rid of him. Ruby drank and he wondered why she bothered. He'd never seen a demon do anything but fake intoxication. Neutralizing alcohol was nothing given the fact they could keep their hosts animated after death.

"You won't tell him you saw me here tonight," Ruby said casually.

"That's not a lie."

"Oh. Right. Sure it isn't. It's a technicality." She sipped her drink and gave him a derisive smirk. "A lie of omission is still a lie."

"You told him you could save me."

"Not a lie."

"You told _me_ you couldn't."

"Also not a lie."

Dean shoved her hand off his shoulder and turned to face her. "Which is it then?"

She put her glass down on the bar before she replied. "I told Sam I knew how to save you. I told you I couldn't save you."

"What are you now, the Riddler? Where's your fancy green leotard with all the question marks?"

Ruby plucked an ice cube from her glass and crunched it between her teeth with a quick snap of her jaws. "There are only two people – if you want to call them that – who can save your smart-ass _ass_ from the Pit. One is Lilith, and unless you're willing to cut your own brother's throat and offer him up to her as a sacrifice, I doubt you can talk her into it."

"Cutting yours won't do it?" Dean returned the smirk.

She ignored him. "The other is Sam," she said bluntly. "But since you don't seem to want me to help him I expect to hear you screaming from the other side by this time next week." Her lip curled up in a snarl. "Is that what you want, Dean? I've been there, remember? I know what's going to happen to you, and it's not pretty."

Dean gave her a cool look. "I want," he said. "You to leave Sam alone."

Their eyes met. Ruby snorted and looked away after a moment. "You're more ignorant than I thought." Her gaze cut back to him quickly. "By the way, what are _you_ doing here? This is a little high brow for you isn't it?"

With slow deliberation, Dean polished off his drink. "Dancing. Drinking. Having a good time," he said, and caught the brunette's eye from across the room before walking away.

In retrospect he realized it was probably a bad idea to leave Ruby hanging, and to lose sight of her in his pursuit of the brunette (Name, Carla. Profession: Paralegal. _"Oh? My brother went to law school. Stanford."_) It would have been easy for her to seek out Sam and start messing with his head while Dean was off getting laid. He eased his worries by convincing himself he wouldn't be gone too much longer - and by consuming more alcohol.

After a while the booze, the music, and Carla's physical assets made him forget all about Ruby and Sam and everything else_ but_ the prospect of getting laid. Carla had even managed to get him out on the dance floor with her, drawing him out from beneath his heavy coat, stripping him down to t-shirt and jeans. He no longer looked like a man out of time, his father's time, but what he was – a handsome young man of the twenty-first century. Becoming one of _them _somehow made him feel lighter, as if a monumental burden had been lifted from his shoulders instead of a battered leather coat.

He'd never danced before. Carla encouraged him. His first attempts were awkward, but eventually the music got into his head and the intensely sexual rhythm of the dancing was easy enough to follow. It almost couldn't be called dancing, but rather a prelude to sex, foreplay. The jostling bodies, the heady scents of perfume and sweat were intoxicating, erotic. He seemed to fall into an almost trance-like state and realized just why in the past dancing had been considered evil, the stuff of witchcraft and devil worship. Ironically, according to Ruby, there was no dancing in Hell save the kind tortured souls did within the flames.

Dean put_ that _thought out of his head with more whiskey.

Song after song rolled past and so did the hours. He had no idea how much he'd had to drink or how long he'd been fooling around with Carla and her buddies – in their booth, out on the dance floor. He had found the escape he'd been seeking, the numbness of mind and the distraction of physical arousal. If he could stay there until the stroke of midnight his last day – well that was tempting.

It was well after midnight when the music finally slowed down. He was on the floor, swaying to whatever lame pop dance ballad was playing, when _she_ deftly cut in on Carla. Dean opened his eyes find his brunette had gone blond and the buxom curves he'd been enjoying all evening replaced by lean muscle. Blunt nails dug into his hips, pulling him close with inhuman strength. She'd lost her coat too. Only a thin layer of cotton cloth separated them and he could feel the jut of her small, taut breasts against his chest.

He didn't say anything. Neither did she. Her skin shone with a thin layer of the sweat she'd finally broken and that musky scent he'd caught on her before was nearly overwhelming – in a good way.

"If you're going to take a walk on the wild side, why settle for something domestic?" she inquired archly.

"You? I don't think so."

Ruby laughed, a low chuckle ripe with bad intentions. "Does it matter? Isn't one cunt the same as another? I thought you were just about getting your rocks off."

"Not into necrophilia."

"This body is alive enough."

"Not into rape either. What's her real name, Ruby?"

She sidestepped the question. "Again, what do you care, Dean? We're all sinners, and you're already going to Hell. Oh...riiiiight. I forgot, you're going for a _noble_ cause."

"Damn straight." He started to pull away from her but she jerked him back in tight against her body. At his throat he felt her teeth nip at him, and her sweet/sour breath tickled his ear.

"I'll tell you a secret," she whispered. "It might have been far nobler of you to have left him dead."

Dean shuddered, a sudden chill sweeping over his overheated body as if someone had just turned the air conditioner on full blast. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's inevitable. Sam is what he is. You can take advantage of it and save yourself, or you can go to Hell not knowing if his humanity will survive what he is to become." She shrugged. "Without you...who knows." Her eyes glittered dangerously. "Wow, Dean. You could be the catalyst to Armageddon."

He jerked himself free from her grasp, stung into sobriety by her words. She watched dispassionately as he abruptly left the dance floor. He retrieved his coat from the booth where he'd left it, making sure the gun was still hidden inside. Without acknowledging any of the people calling after him, he stalked to the door of the club and exited out onto the street where the sweetness of cool, clean air was like a sucker-punch after the stifling hot club. His stomach was churning, his head spinning, and not only because of the alcohol he'd consumed. The yellow-eyed demon's words came back to haunt him.

"_How certain are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent Sam?"_

The brick wall he leaned up against was rough and cold and hard. It sharpened his senses, woke him up a little and freed him from the miasma he'd been caught in for the last several hours. What was he thinking, coming here? Why had he left Sam alone? Had it been Ruby who lured him here, and for what purpose?

His cell was still in his coat pocket. Sam had called three more times. He was probably frantic. It was time to check in...

The phone was out of his hand before he realized what had happened. It fell from numb fingers to the sidewalk and from the ugly "crack" it made when it struck the pavement he knew it was busted beyond repair. The shitty part was that it was practically brand new.

But then, in a week, would he care?

"You know," he said. "You demons need to come up with something other than the old pin them to the wall trick. It's getting really old."

"We weren't done with our conversation."

"As far as I'm concerned, we were."

"Oh," Ruby moved in on him, her hands splayed over his belly, creeping up under his shirt. "But we hadn't even gotten to the best part yet." She stared into his eyes for a good long time. "Her name is Heidi, and don't you worry about her, she's sleeping. All this is just one. Really. Weird. Dream."

Dean tried to keep his breathing under control but it, and his heartbeat, seemed to have different priorities. When she just slipped her fingers in the top of his jeans his dick joined the mutiny. She was unnaturally warm and that smell was driving him crazy.

Her expression grew sly. "It's been a very, very long time for me. Come on, Dean, what have you got to lose? Can't lose your soul, that's already taken."

"My self respect?" he ventured hoarsely.

"Do you have any?" she chuckled and withdrew her hand from his belt. "Aren't you curious what one of my kind can bring to the table?"

He snorted. "What, a whore? I've been there done that..."

Ruby snarled. "Be nice, Dean, and I won't hurt you."

She moved her hands to his shoulders and thrust her hips tight against his, grinding the bones together. It wasn't erotic, it was painful. Her mouth on his cut off whatever smart comment he might otherwise have made. When she pulled away his lips were left burning.

"Or maybe you like getting hurt."

"Do I have a choice? You've got me pinned."

"You going to cry rape?"

"Is that what you're doing?"

"No," she said lightly. "We're just talking."

"I thought you were more interested in Sam?"

"I like a challenge."

"And he's not?" Dean asked quickly, his mind reeling. How many times had Ruby been alone with Sam? Had he..._had_ he? Dammit, he better not have or Dean was going to kick his ass.

Ruby answered that question.

"If I bed your brother it will be on his terms." She shrugged. "I've seen him looking."

"Yeah, because he hasn't gotten laid for months."

"By my count, over a year."

"There ya go then. He won't be picky. Any old cunt will do."

He winced as she slapped him hard across the face. It split his lip and he tasted blood. The glared at each other for a moment before Ruby's eyes flickered down to his crotch.

"So you don't get off on pain, I'll have to remember that."

"Stay away from my brother," Dean growled.

"Or what? You'll send me back to Hell?" Ruby laughed. "Go ahead. We'll go together, and then I can spend a nice leisurely afternoon hanging around with you, stripping the skin off your body piece, by piece, by piece."

"Bring it on, bitch."

Her eyes narrowed, her smile turned wry, and she backed slowly away from him, allowing him to free himself from the wall. She turned, moving away from the club down the sidewalk toward the interior of the city, her pace slow and the swing of her hips beckoning. She was issuing him a challenge.

Dean swore under his breath, stooped to pick up his shattered phone, and followed her. He was just sober enough to realize he was playing with fire, and just drunk enough not to care. She was right about one thing though, at this juncture he didn't have much to lose, and of course he had ulterior motives. If he played his cards right, he might just be able to get hold of her knife. Necrophilia? Well, there were worse things, and he was damned anyway.

She led him to a hotel much, much nicer than the one he and Sam had picked. It was in a high rise and featured a uniformed doorman who smiled and nodded at Ruby as she passed. She handed him a tip and motioned for Dean to catch up to her. He fell into pace with her as they crossed the lobby.

"What were you expecting, a dirty mattress in an abandoned warehouse?" she asked archly.

"More or less."

They entered the elevator. Ruby tut-tutted him. "You Hunters think you're all that with your grifting, and gambling. Newsflash – we know how to play the money games too. They're as old as sin itself."

Their ride stopped just short of the penthouse. Ruby pulled a key card from her jacket pocket and led him down the hall to a suite at the end. At the door she stopped and pulled him in close to her. Her warm body felt good. The night had been chill.

Foreplay was the kiss at the door. As they went inside clothing began coming off, starting with coats, boots, shirts. His hands found bare breasts while hers deftly removed his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. Somewhere between the socks and the underwear he heard the dull thud of both gun and knife hitting the carpet. Part of his mind blasted a warning at him, urged him to pick up both weapons and get the frell out of Dodge. The other part was preoccupied with other things such as breasts, and lips and the warm, wet place between her legs.

He managed to hand her a condom, which she promptly threw over her shoulder. "What do you need that for? You're dead in a week, and I'm certainly not going to get pregnant."

"Oh, man..."

She shoved him back on the bed but he wasn't playing that game. He rolled both of them over so he was on top. He was prevented from going any further by her knee digging into his gut.

"You know in the middle ages the only position permitted by the Church was missionary, and only if you were procreating."

"This isn't the middle ages, Ruby."

"I know," she said, and quickly wrestled him back over onto his back before languidly stretching her hard body across his chest to whisper in his ear. "You'll get your turn."

She reared back, straddling his middle. For the briefest moment he looked at her and saw a normal young woman, her naked body glistening with just the faintest sheen of sweat, her eyes softly lustful, her lips swollen from kisses. As she peered out at him from beneath the fall of her flaxen bangs, he wondered what _she_ saw. He ran his palms up her thighs. His hands were on her hips as she guided herself down on him. She was warmer inside than a human, as if she carried the flames of Hell within.

Tight. Hot. He watched her rise and fall almost as if he weren't involved in what she was doing. Oh, he felt it all right, felt it throughout his entire body, but the biggest turn on was not how it felt, but how it looked. She was dancing again, moving to a different sort of rhythm. Head thrown back, hips thrusting back and forth, up and down, she was pleasuring herself without the slightest concern for him at all. He could have been dead for all that she cared, just as long as he was hard inside her.

Dean was not the sort to let her get away with _that. _He sat up, and grabbed her head, twisting his fingers in her hair as he planted his mouth over hers. One hand stroked her breasts, thumb rough over one hard nipple. He rocked up into her, thrusting himself deeper inside. She moved faster and bit him in the shoulder when she came. Her orgasm triggered his. With a loud smack of bare hand upon bare flesh he knocked her back and finished on top.

"Bastard," she growled.

"Bitch." Dean gingerly fingered his shoulder. "You bit me!"

Ruby laughed. She squirmed out from under him and sat up against the headboard, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Thought you didn't get off on pain."

Dean grunted and rolled over onto his back. He was wiped. It had been a long day, and a longer night, and he'd had way too much booze. Falling asleep in the presence of a demon was probably a bad idea. Falling asleep in the presence of this particular demon was probably an even worse idea. Trouble was, he just couldn't keep his eyes open.

He wasn't sure if it was fortunate or _un_fortunate that Ruby wasn't done with him yet. His eyes popped open when he felt her unfold herself from her position above his head. The musky scent of her sweat, which had grown even stronger during sex, wafted over him as she moved down the bed. Her short, blunt nails scraped across his chest and down his belly. She moved his legs apart and settled herself between them.

"Were you burned at the stake?" he asked gruffly. "I'm thinkin' what you've got in mind wasn't on the Church's list of appropriate sexual behavior either."

"You want your turn?" Ruby smiled slowly. "We'll need to prime the pump."

"You wha...WHOA!"

Damned? Most certainly.

Dean wondered if he shouldn't add an item in his father's journal under the heading regarding demon lore, something regarding forked tongues. Ruby's wasn't forked but she certainly knew how to use it. She teased him until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then let him do with her whatever he wanted. What he wanted was domination. She pissed him off as much as she turned him on, and it made him rougher than his usual wont. Much to his surprise his efforts were rewarded with demure submission and his anger cooled.

What began with fury and violence, teeth and nails, ended with gentle kisses and a leisurely ascent fueled by Dean's carefully calculated movements. He reined in the urge to rush things, stroking her both inside and out, going deep and pulling back with slow deliberation. His thrusting hips and probing hands eventually guided her to a huge, shuddering climax. He couldn't help but notice her startled expression when it struck, couldn't help but grin when she closed her eyes and cried out his name. It fed his ego. She hadn't expected him to keep up with her, let alone bring her to that place. Her body lifted beneath him, urging him to ride her faster, harder, and soon his own pleasure came to its peak.

She wasn't much for cuddling, in fact Dean wasn't sure what she did after they finished the second round. Sleep knocked him flat. He just couldn't stay awake. He knew his opportunity to take her knife had come and gone and didn't care. In truth he wasn't sure he wanted Sam to go after Lilith anyway. It was too dangerous, too risky, too much of a gamble. Dean hadn't given up his soul just for his brother to go get himself killed again.

When he finally woke it was daylight and he felt as if he'd been in a bar brawl. An aching head teamed up with aching muscles to make him remain in bed, lounging among the silken sheets, long after he regained consciousness. The bed, the whole _room,_ stunk of sex and Ruby's peculiar scents. With daylight and awareness, however, came clarity. He rolled over to find Ruby leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Nearly noon."

Dean groaned as he sat up. "Time for a shower?"

"No. I only have the room until noon. Time to get the hell out."

"There's gratitude for ya." He grabbed his pants as they came flying at him from across the room. Underwear and t-shirt followed.

He took time to piss, and did not hurry to dress. He came out of the bathroom curling his nose at his own stench. Sam would just have to give him time to clean up before they hit the road again - if Sam hadn't left him already.

"This doesn't change anything," he told her. "You're still a bitch, I'd still send your skank ass back to Hell in a New York minute, and I still want you to stay away from my brother."

She was unimpressed. "You know, I've figured it out."

"Figured what out?"

"You."

"Yeah?" Dean laughed. "I'll bet - not." He checked his coat pockets. Everything was present and accounted for including the Magnum and the flask of holy water.

"You're a coward."

He turned his head and gave her a cool look. "What?"

"And the thing that scares you the most is Sam."

"Oh, is that right?"

"You'd rather rot in Hell than let him save you."

"He can't save me," Dean said sharply, moving quickly to confront her. "He can't! So stop leading him on, making him think he can!"

"He can."

"How? You tell me then. How?"

"Destroy Lilith."

"With what? You going to lend him your little pig sticker?"

"I'm going to teach him how to use what he was given, what's locked up inside him. He has abilities you can not even imagine. Why do you think they're calling him messiah?"

Dean caught his breath, momentarily stunned. "His abilities are gone," he said, and even he heard the desperation in his voice, the sound of denial.

Ruby smirked. "No, they're not, he's just been keeping a lid on them. You and me, we're not the only ones capable of lying."

He closed his eyes and sighed. Yeah. He'd had his suspicions. Sam had been keeping stuff from him all year, and with every truth that came out, Dean got the impression there was even more locked up tight inside his brother's head.

_Dammit, Sammy, why?_

Ruby pushed herself off the door and stood up straight. "Your death isn't going to save him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself it will." She tipped her chin upward. "You're a coward, Dean. You don't want to live because you know one day you might to have man up and make a decision."

Opening his eyes, Dean met her gaze. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about your promise – to your father, to Sam. You're afraid if he saves you, if he uses the power he's been given, you'll have to kill him."

It was a like a punch in the gut to hear that from her. It both frightened and angered him. How did she know? What business was it of hers? "You don't know anything about us, about me, my father..."

"I can show him how to use it, control it, and not let it control him."

"No!" Dean grabbed her arm and jerked her close. "Listen to me, bitch. I'm going to tell you one more time, one _last_ time - you stay away from my brother or I will send your ass back to Hell so fast you won't know what hit you."

Ruby pulled away angrily. "You dumb fuck. Fine. I'll leave you alone, both of you, and you can _both_ go to Hell."

She slammed the door so hard when she left Dean was convinced that the person knocking on the door a moment later was someone coming to complain. He opened the door with a nonchalant, "Yes?"

It wasn't a complaint, and it wasn't Ruby coming back for more. Looming in the doorway, obviously sleep-deprived and pissy, was Sam.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been, Dean?"

"Sammy! What have I told you about cursing?" Dean stepped passed him out into the hall. There was, no surprise, no sign of Ruby. "I went out," he said. "Chill, Sam. I'm fine."

Sam followed, bitching at him as they walked down the corridor. "A week out and you disappear without a word, without a trace. How am I supposed to react? You should have called!"

"Phone broke." Pushing the elevator button, Dean gave his brother a wry look. "How did you find me?"

Dean had his suspicions and waited for confirmation in Sam's expression. He could read the kid like a book and now was no exception. There was a brief look of shame and guilt before Sam shuttered up and got defensive.

"I'm a good tracker."

"So you can track someone 'without a trace'?" Dean shook his head. "That's awfully damn good, Sammy. Sure you didn't look into your crystal ball?"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

Inside the elevator, Dean leaned wearily against the side of the car and pushed the button for the lobby. He could tell from his brother's tone, Sam really didn't want to continue this particular subject any more than Dean did, and that spoke volumes. Ruby had been telling the truth. Sam was lying about his abilities. They had not died with Azazel.

"Did you keep our room?" Dean asked quietly.

The relief was obvious. "Yeah, I did."

"Good. I stink. I need a shower and breakfast before we hit the road."

Sam fell quiet, his temper cooling. "So," he said finally. "How was she?"

"She who?"

"Whatever girl you picked up."

The elevator bell rang. Dean stepped off into the lobby.

"She was a cunt."

* * *

The stairs creaked, giving away his presence. He watched as she scrambled to her feet from where she'd been sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath the Devil's Trap. The bruises on her face had already faded, the cut on her lip already healed. He wore a matching set but wasn't so lucky. His face still hurt like a mother.

She looked surprised to see him, but her look of surprise quickly turned wary. She watched carefully as he retrieved a broom from the corner and with the handle scraped away at the paint on the ceiling. The sigil was broken. As soon as she was free she stepped forward and cracked him hard across the face. His cut lip began bleeding again. He wiped it away.

"Sam know you're here?" she smirked.

"No. And I want to keep it that way." Dean threw the broom aside. "Ruby. Don't follow."

"Like hell I won't."

"Ruby, please."

The word brought her up short. Please. It wasn't something you said to a demon. It wasn't something _Dean Winchester_ said to a demon.

"Let us do this on our terms," he added.

"You know it's not going to work. Lilith will kill you both."

He smiled wryly. "That's a possibility. We might survive, that's another one." He took a deep breath before admitting something else. "There's also the real possibility that I won't, but Sammy will." His eyes met hers. "I don't want you to follow, Ruby."

The both understood what he didn't say out loud.

_I don't want you to get hurt. Sam will need you._

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll give you a head start, and that's all you get. Take it or leave it."

"Fine. I'll take it." Dean turned and started back up the stairs. After the first two he stopped and looked back at her. "Ruby?"

"Yeah, what now?"

"It's not kittens and walks on the beach is it? The reason why you're helping us."

Ruby kept her back to him when she spoke. He barely heard her. "No. It's not, not entirely," she said softly. "I made a promise, swore an oath, and I don't know..." She bowed her head, obviously discomfited by her own feelings. "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing, Dean, but...I'm doing the best I can, dammit." Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed. "I promised," she repeated.

"Promised who?"

She turned around and glared at him, her mood changing like quick silver, her voice growing coarse and angry. "I had one chance," she growled. "Just like all the others, to get through the gate when it opened. All those damned souls fighting each other, trying to squeeze out one little opening, not knowing if it was going to slam shut and send us all back to the pit." Ruby clenched one fist to her chest. "I deserved this, Dean! I'm not like them. He knew it! He trusted me! Why can't you?"

"Might make it easier if I knew who you were talking about," Dean suggested archly.

Ruby snorted quietly. "The man who helped me escape the pit, fought his way out the gate at my side. Your father."

He said nothing at first, he wasn't sure what to say. John had trusted him too, and Dean's self confidence was lacking just enough to make him wonder if his father wasn't the world's biggest idiot.

"Ruby..."

"Azazel was a liar. All he needed Sam for was to open the gate, nothing more. If Sam hadn't killed him, Jake would still be dead. He'd served his purpose. Same thing would have happened to Sam if he'd let himself be corrupted – but he didn't. He hasn't." Ruby's gaze found Dean's and she stared at him with an intensity designed to reinforce her point. "It isn't Azazel's army that calls Sam messiah, Dean."

Dean started, and whatever he'd thought he was going to say, went right out of his head. "What?"

Ruby refused to elaborate. Her expression went cold, and her eyes narrowed dangerously, darkening to black. "You're wasting your head start."

They stared at each other – glared at each other – and both looked away at the same instant.

Dean started climbing the stairs again. At the top he turned to look back at her one more time, only to find her gone. He would see her again before the night was through, of that he was certain. She'd probably feed _him_ to the hounds herself, but now Dean knew she'd never let anything happen to Sam if she could help it.

He thought back to her in the club, dancing, smiling, laughing, enjoying herself like she had never done before. It had all been orchestrated just for him, to show him the side of her that still remembered what it was like to be human. He remembered the look in her eyes as he kissed her the last time, just before he fell asleep lying next to her. It had been purely human; filled with gratitude, affection, and more than a little longing.

Truth was a bitter pill. She wasn't human, and never could be no matter what she did or how much she remembered. Ruby fought not for humanity, but for her own salvation, to save her own corrupted soul. Was that what drew her to Sam? Did she see in him a kindred spirit?

Or something else?

Sam was waiting at the car under the impression that Dean had gone to use the toilet before they left for Indiana. He stood leaning against the fender, staring off toward the east were the sun was just breaking over a line of trees along the horizon. Dean paused to take it in himself, realizing he was looking at his last sunrise. Not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours he felt fear constricting his chest, and he cast his gaze toward Sam fully expecting to have some horrible demonic vision warp his reality.

It didn't. Instead he just saw Sam standing there with his hands in his coat pockets and his head bowed, haloed by the pale yellow light of the morning sun as it finally broke through the trees.

_Why do you think they call him messiah?_

Sam looked up and the illusion shattered. He appeared only weary, exhausted, worn down by the stress of knowing his brother's time was running out, and there being no way to stop it save the one that might destroy his own soul. He'd do it if Dean would let him, but Dean had made it clear that was not an option.

"Took long enough."

"Pardon me for having to take a dump."

Sam's features twisted in disgust. "Uh, thanks for sharing, Dean."

Dean grinned at him. "Anytime."

His grin faded as he watched Sam walk around to the driver's side of the car. Before he got in himself he took a moment to look once again toward the East and the promises made by the rising sun. Over the past two years he'd began to second guess his beliefs – or nonbeliefs – in a higher power. He'd seen too much, learned too much, not to start wondering if Mary's angels didn't really exist.

If they did, what did Dean have to fear from Hell?

_You have to let me go, Sammy. I am your weakness, and you have to stay strong, keep fighting for everything we've always believed in..._

_And for those who believe in you._

_Those who remember. _


End file.
